On the Matter of the Head In the Fridge
by akmdreamer
Summary: A breakup letter. Sort of. Sherlock experiments, John is not pleased, and there is an incident with eyeballs in the cupboard. Also, there's another head in the fridge. - Pretty much 700 words of ridiculousness. My first venture into BBC Sherlock fanfic territory. -


**Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters, places, or ideas belong to their rightful owners. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Author's Note: So basically I had an English assignment to write a breakup letter based on the Declaration of Independence (given pretty much free reign over the people, relationship, etc.), and I began a rather ridiculous one from one roommate to another. And my brain just wouldn't stop screaming **_**JOHN AND SHERLOCK!**_**, so I wrote this to shut it up. And also because I told my friend I would. :D**

**Title: On the Matter of the Head in the Fridge**

**Fandom: BBC Sherlock**

**Pairing: Johnlock. Sort of? Pre-slash if you squint. So…pretty much like the show, really.**

**Rating: T for mild language and Sherlock's experiments**

**Genres: Humor/Friendship**

**Author: akmdreamer**

**For mylifeinsixseconds on Tumblr, 'cause I promised her I'd write it.**

**- akmdreamer**

* * *

Listen here, Sherlock!

I think we can both agree that I've been perfectly patient over the past few months, but lines have been crossed, and I've just about had it! I know you think rather highly of yourself, being a genius and all, but I'll not sit by idly and allow my basic rights as a human being and a member of this household to be trampled all over.

Our agreement to rent together stemmed from convenience and became an odd sort of friendship. Granted, you're the strangest friend I've ever had, and we became friends in the most unusual of ways, but I won't deny I enjoy your companionship. Now, one would assume that in such a situation as we find ourselves, certain privacies would be automatically granted, and particular self-evident boundaries would be put into place, not to be crossed. Your abuse of our arrangement has persisted, and I have been forced to address it.

Within the first few minutes of our meeting, you told me that potential flatmates ought to know the worst of each other right off the bat. Then you told me that you often played the violin and sometimes went days without speaking. Unusual as those habits are, they certainly are not the worst of you! Which is why I warn you, Sherlock Holmes, if I find one more severed foot or decomposing finger in the microwave, I'll most certainly go ballistic. Your bloody morbid experiments themselves don't bother me, you prat, _it's finding their components in places they oughtn't to be _that drives me up the ruddy walls!So. If I open the fridge and find instead of milk the head of a corpse (Lord, I don't want to know where the rest of its body ended up!), I'll be likely to decapitate _you_.

Second off, I'd really rather not _become_ one of your experiments. I can only tolerate so much, mate, and being stuck in a room with what I still believe to be a bloody monstrous genetic experiment of a dog whilst you play around with fear-inducing drugs and their triggers certainly exceeds that limit.

And third, your dirty socks do not belong in the bathroom sink. Oh, while we're on the topic of clothing, stop walking around in your underwear. Half of London already believes we're shagging, you really don't need to give anyone further fuel for their ridiculous fire.

Would you kindly stop growing fungi under my mattress? It's disgusting, and I can't help but think that someday something of it is going to animate and suffocate me. If the smell doesn't accomplish that first.

And finally, I do believe I should've at least been warned that your brother is sort of the substitute Queen of England and he may be apt to kidnap me from time to time just to check up on you. I do have a mobile, you know! I don't suppose he could do things the easy way?

All of that said, Sherlock, you _are_, strangely enough, my best friend. So I'll put up with you. So long as you at least put the eyeballs in a jar before you stick them in the top cabinet. I do not appreciate body parts raining down on me when all I wanted was sugar for my morning tea.

Sincerely,

John H. Watson


End file.
